


Uncharted Territory

by egrant94



Series: Mapped Out [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egrant94/pseuds/egrant94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When university student Clara, first meets politician Malcolm, sparks don’t exactly fly. Will it all work out, or is the relationship destined to crash and burn? First story in the ‘Mapped Out’ series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hustle

Wet umbrella's coloured the sidewalks and streets as the cold rain spattered down, dampening the cobblestone and making the stairs of her hotel slippery. Clara pulled the hood of her bright red rain jacket up over her head and clutched her satchel bag to her chest as she rushed down the busy crowded walkways and tried in vain to keep her feet dry. Puddles created small pools in which even the spryest of pedestrians couldn't avoid taking a dip every so often. Water finally seeped through the thin fabric of her heeled shoes and the insistent wind filled her hood, threatening to ruin the perfect hairdo she had somehow managed. Clara crossed her fingers around the fabric of her hood in the hope that the address she had messily written earlier on a loose Vatican Museum brochure was nearby. She was in desperate need of some shelter and something warm or alcoholic to drink—preferably the latter.

"Thank god," Clara sighed when she noticed an ornate wooden sign hanging from the brick above a large window indicating that this was in fact The Red Hearted Lion. The light escaping through the glass shone off the raindrops as if to tease passersby with the warmth that was surely kept inside.

The sound of a few dozen conversations all happening at once invaded Clara's ears the moment she opened the pub's heavy door. The heat quickly engulfed her with every step she took towards a recently vacated seat at the expansive bar. The sound of her wet boots squeaking against the hardwood floors earned her a few annoyed glances from the other patrons, but she concealed her mild embarrassment and pretended to be absorbed by the many drink choices on the menu.

"Una pinta per favore," she replied to the bartender when he asked what she wanted to order. She didn't know much Italian, but she was aware of a few select phrases.

The bartender nodded his head and quickly got her pint while Clara looked around the busy pub to see if she could spot the group of friends she was supposed to be meeting. They hadn't arrived yet, so Clara pulled the old beaten up book she had been reading for one of her English classes out of her bag and opened to the bookmark. Periodically taking sips of her beer, she didn't take notice of the figure that had just taken a seat at the next stool staring at her intently.

"Buona sera, bello," Clara peered over at the owner of the low, and what she assumed was the man's best try at a sexy, voice. "Ho perso il mio numero di telefono, potrebbe prestarmi il suo?" He looked at her expectantly as he waiting to hear her reply to his question. Clara continued to stare at him with a furrowed brow.

It wasn't until what felt to Clara like an eternity—but was probably no more than a minutes—later that they (he) was interrupted. A heavy pair of unfamiliar, but warm arms wrapped tightly around Clara's waist from behind, making her whole body stiffen. She couldn't help the startled yelp when an equally warm pair of soft lips pressed against her now blush coloured cheek.

"So Sorry I'm late, darling," a gravelly, thickly accented voice said just loud enough so that the man beside them could hear. "The meeting ran fucking late and it is impossible to get a taxi in this bloody city when the sky is pissing all over the place like an excited puppy on fucking crack."

Clara did her best to greet the strange Scottish men back, and managed to smile despite herself, but feared that she wasn't doing a very convincing job. He kissed her cheek a second time and took a seat on the newly vacated bar stool. The Italian man with what were sure to have been cheesy chat-up lines, had shuffled away in a heap of drunken, dejected embarrassment.

"That was quite the little show you just put on there," Clara sputtered out her compliment when she managed to finally catch her breath. She twisted in her chair to get a better look at the man, but took a sip from her pint as an excuse to pause and gather her thoughts.

The man in front of her wore a charcoal grey suit with a crisp blue dress shirt and loosened black tie. He brought no coat, but must not have needed to walk far, possibly from a taxi or a nearby building as shown by the only slight dampness of his clothing. The now discarded mass of papers and binders he was previously carrying was now set on the bar top while he roughly tapped away at his Blackberry before tucking it away in his pocket. He ran his hand through the messy curls of brown hair that topped his head; the hints of grey appearing hinted at a stressful job.

 _'I need to stop reading so many detective novels.'_  Clara thought to herself.

"Don't give the poor bastard too hard of a time, sweetheart," he winked and signalled to the bartender that he wanted a pint as well. His steely blue-grey eyes bore into Clara as though he was waiting for her to comment again on what he said. When she didn't, he continued talking as if to simply fill the silence. "It isn't his fault that he couldn't help himself when he walked into this dingy fucking excuse for a pub and saw a beautiful woman sitting here alone. He was just following his fucking senses to the only hint of light in this place."

Clara stared.

"Malcolm Tucker." He held out his hand towards Clara to shake. On instinct she grabbed it and shook, but didn't let go right away.

"Clara Oswald," She kept holding his hand, no longer shaking. When she realised what she was doing she quickly pulled away. "Um, thank you," she cleared her throat and closed the book she was just reading setting it on the bar top next to Malcolm's pile of papers. "Thank you for saving me from that guy. I don't even know what he was saying. I didn't even know how to tell him to go away."

"Just call me your knight in shining fucking armour," he paused to take a drink of his beer. "So what brings you to this dark hole in the middle of a fucking hurricane in a country whose language you barely speak, except to order alcohol?"

"I'm visiting friends for a few days during my break from Uni, and was supposed to meet them here. I arrived a bit early apparently. What brings you around these parts? Long way from home, aren't you?"

 _'Around these parts? Long way from home? I don't even know who I am anymore.'_  Clara internally groaned.

"Here for a conference at the Embassy. Most boring three fucking days of the year if you ask me, but at least it is a bit of a break from the brain dead fucking cunts we have back in London, yeah?"

"Clara, over here!" A voice called from across the pub.

Clara whipped her head around and searched for the source of the familiar voice. Over by one of the pillars was her friend Nina, jumping up and down to get Clara's attention. She waved and held up a finger, telling Nina that she'd be over in a minute. Nina nodded and pointed towards a table where Clara noticed the rest of her friends were all sitting.

"I'm guessing those are your tardy friends?" Malcolm chuckled and glanced between Clara, the jumping girl, and the table of friends all scrutinizing him with varying degrees of interest.

"That's them," Clara stood from her seat and gathered all of her things—drink included. "Thank you again for saving me, and for keeping me company for a few, Malcolm." She smiled and turned on her heel, hoping to get away before she made more of a fool of herself.

"Listen," Malcolm stood from the stool he was still occupying and started digging around in his pockets. He found what he was looking for inside the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "I know that this sorry excuse for an actual fucking conversation was more painful than stabbing yourself in the eye with a fucking fork, but I want to see you again. Dinner, tomorrow evening."

"I don't know if that is such a good—"

"Here, I'll flip this coin, right? Heads I win, Tails you lose. You'll never have to fucking see my sorry excuse for a mug again."

Before Clara had the chance to disagree with the bet, the coin had been flipped and landed in Malcolm's hand. He uncovered it and revealed the young face of Her Majesty. His smile was surprisingly boyish for someone who was a good few years older than Clara; the slant of his lips was unexpectedly charming.

"Fine, pass me your phone." She quickly typed in her mobile number and handed him back the phone. She didn't enter her name—just the number.

It didn't surprise her when she received a text before even reaching the table and her awaiting friends.

_'I'll pick you up at 6.'_

Across the room Malcolm looked down at the coin in his hand and flipped it over a few times, smiling.


	2. Online

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this took so long to post. I knew how I wanted this chapter to go, but I wasn't really sure how to approach it... let's hope that doesn't happen with the next one! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or The Thick of It.

Two months later. April.

To: Malcolm Tucker  
From: Clara Oswald  
Date: April 2, 2015 – 9: 27 PM

I saw the press conference that Nicola held this afternoon. I could have sworn I saw your scowling face in the background. She went quite a bit off the script I helped you with on the phone last weekend, didn't she? I know that you're probably really mad right now. I can just picture you getting all red faced and yelling like when that guy spilled coffee all over me in Italy. You just need to take a few deep breaths, grab a stiff drink, and take a break away from everyone for a little bit.

I handed my last assignment of university this morning! It is sort of a relief to finally be just sitting here in my bedroom and not have textbooks all over the place and highlighter ink all over my hands. I keep feeling like I should be studying or something right now, but there isn't really anything I can do at this point. Just three more weeks and my final grade will be in, and I can hopefully graduate. It almost seems like these past few years have gone by too quickly. They asked me to give a speech at the ceremony. I might need your help with that…

Take care of yourself! Eat, sleep, and try not to murder anybody. I'd like you in one piece when I move to London!

***

To: Clara Oswald  
From: Malcolm Tucker  
Date: April 3, 2015 – 2:24 AM

If I had a bloody fucking nickel for every time Nicola Fucking Murray followed her script, I'd be living in the park down the street—sleeping on one of those fucking wooden benches. I swear, that woman doesn't have two bloody brain cells she could rub together if she fucking tried. I could draw her a fucking map to the goddamn point and she'd probably go on her own little detour and jump off a fucking moving train thinking it was a shortcut.

Anyway, enough of that.

When are you expecting to hear back about your final marks? I'm sure you'll do brilliantly on that, just like you do with everything else I've seen so far. Soon you'll be done with school and at the front of the classroom; teaching pudding brains all about things you haven't thought of in years. Graduation can't come soon enough I imagine. Have you heard from your father about the ceremony yet? I know you were telling me the other night that you weren't sure if he was going to be able to make it with work and everything. If he can't make it, you can be sure that I'll be there for you. I'll pull whatever strings I have available to so you have someone there on your big day.

I'm eating. I can't sleep. No promises on the not murdering idiots.

***

To: Clara Oswald  
From: Linda Oswald  
Date: April 10, 2015 – 11:42 AM

Your father and I won't be making it to your graduation in a few weeks. I'm not really feeling the best and would rather not make the flight over and worsen my condition. Your father is staying to help me out with things while I'm out of commission.

I'm sure you understand.

***

"Tucker!"

Clara has already learned by this point to not be surprised by the angry tone Malcolm's voice held when he answered his phone. This was the tone she had realised was normally reserved for Minister's, but one always ran the risk of encountering it when he's too distracted to look at the caller ID. Clara guess that the middle of the day probably wasn't the best time to be bothering him in the first place, but she needed to talk to someone.

"He's not coming." She said sadly. When Malcolm said nothing in reply, she decided to keep talking shakily. "The step monster sent me an email today to tell me that she wasn't feeling the best and that my father would be staying to help her out at home. They apparently won't be making it, despite the fact that the ceremony isn't for another few weeks! The email wasn't even that long. Only four lines to tell me that my father wouldn't be there on one of the most important days of my life."

"Just give me a minute to get somewhere a bit more fucking quiet," there was barely any sound for a couple moments while Malcolm left whatever room he was in, and went somewhere else. Clara heard a door shut and the muffled sound of something in the background before Malcolm spoke again. "Did you actually talk to your father about the email yet? Does he even know she sent it to you?"

"I haven't gotten the chance to yet," Clara shook her head and hovered her mouse over the send button for a strongly worded email addressed to reply to her stepmother's message. "It isn't like he has no idea that she emailed me today. The invitation to the ceremony was addressed only to him in the first place. Then I was speaking with him on the phone just two days ago and he sounded really excited about coming to visit."

"You need to call him and talk to him again about all of this. You need to at least hear his side of everything before you fly off the handle."

"I'm not going to fly off the handle!" Clara's voice echoed through her empty flat as she yelled. "Okay, maybe I'm freaking out a little bit. I just want my father to be at my university graduation. I don't think that's too much to ask. I'd be just as mad if he had told me himself, but he didn't. He was too scared to call and tell me."

"You're right. It is a fucking shit thing to do, and especially to not have the decency to tell you himself, but you need to talk to him, Clara."

"Ugh," Clara fell back on her bed and groaned. "Why do you always have to be right about stuff?"

They talked for a couple more minutes before saying their goodbyes and hanging up.

***

To: Clara Oswald  
From: Malcolm Tucker  
Date: April 10, 2015 – 1:03 PM

I'll be at your graduation. I know it isn't much of a consolation, but I'll be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! Please comment :)


	3. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You are not imagining things, I'm actually posting a new chapter. This one hasn't been beta-ed, or even heavily edited. There might be mistakes, and it might be a bit messy. That being said, inspiration suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. I'm already starting on the next chapter, though I don't know when it will be up yet.

Just a few months ago, Clara wouldn't have cared in the least about the conversation happening just a few feet away in the staff break room. The tea pot in front of her would have offered enough of a distraction that afternoon, that the chattering away of her colleagues wouldn't have even registered in her sleep deprived mind. Having spent all week at Malcolm's townhouse, however, Clara was offered a unique view on the topic at hand—Nicola Murray being a fucking idiot.

The current shitstorm caused by the less than inept politician had kept Malcolm either away from bed, or away from the house altogether since late Tuesday evening. The constant ringing of his mobile, and periodic clicking of his computer keys were the soundtrack to her (temporary) move-in day. Shouting cause by idiocy and heavy lifting still filled her head and stomach with a mix of confused arousal.

"I just don't know what they were thinking," one of the women chuckled. "Seems they throw a press conference for anything these days."

Clara finally turned around this time. There was a television in the corner of the break room with chairs and a couch surrounding it from every possible side. The gaggle of women and a few assorted men sat together and stared on at the screen. Discarded cups of coffee and half eaten sandwiches littered the table in the middle while the distracted professors shifted forward in their seats.

"What's going on?" Clara finally asked. She knew for a fact that there wasn't supposed to be a press conference that day. Malcolm had explicitly recommended that there be no public interaction for the clumsy folks at DoSAC for at least the next three days.

"Apparently Murray has found a way to shove her head even further up the PMs arse," Ms. Madeline replied with glee.

"She's gone right batty, she has," Mr. Conner grunted as he shoved himself out of the worn armchair. "Throwing in her support of something that hasn't even been announced by the man himself yet."

The vacant seat looked inviting to Clara, but she knew there was an empty planner waiting to be filled with lessons waiting back in her office. She sipped at her tea and stood watch for another moment or two. The ticker tape across the bottom of the screen was flashing highlights from the press conference that was far past having fallen apart.

'Nicola Murray boasts full support of the PMs recent announcement.'

'Murray's support for unknown bill unwavering.'

'Murray's team scrambles.'

With wide eyes, Clara turns on her heel, offering little more than a wave over the shoulder before leaving the room and making her way down the hallway. Her heels click-clacked against the ancient tiles as she made her walk lazily back to her office near the larger lecture halls.

If there was one thing Clara was thankful for with her new job as a professor, it was the privacy of the office she was given on her first day. The walls were already lined with books left behind by the previous occupant of the room. A women she'd been told had been a gorgeous archaeology professor that left London to marry a much younger man. Clara could relate to the woman at least on some level—or perhaps her much younger beau.

At the very least, she had fantastic taste in literature.

After considering her options and looking over the week's schedule, Clara determined that she'd rather work on her lesson plans on Malcolm's cushiony couch in pajamas. She loved her office, but there was something incredibly enticing about being at home instead.

Later that night, Clara heard Malcolm entering the townhouse loudly, obviously still in a horrid mood from the events of the day. His footsteps thumped down the hallway into the main living area before pausing behind the couch. Clara felt his lips press against her hair as he spoke:

"Aren't you a sight for sore fucking eyes," Malcolm murmured against Clara's head as he stood behind the sofa. "Been a long day, love?" he took a peek at her nearly completed work before kicking off his shoes and joining her on the couch.

"Hardly as long as yours I'd imagine." Clara placed her binder on the coffee table, and swung her pajama and blanket clad legs over Malcom. "I saw the press conference on the telly today."

"Nicola. Fucking. Murray." His head was thrown back against the back of the couch. Clara ran her fingers through his greying curls in a weak attempt at comfort. "She'll be the cause of death when the coroner is done with my fucking corpse."

"She really is rather useless. Are they rumbling about getting rid of her soon?"

"I fucking wish. As long as that useless cunt is around, there is a distraction from all the other useless cunts."

Clara nodded her head in silent understanding. She'd already learned that once Malcolm started off with his yelling, it was very hard to get him to stop. His head lolled towards her shoulder while she continued playing with his hair.

There were a few minutes of blissful silence. No more than five or six before the sound of Malcolm's cellphone ringing echoed from the front hallway of the townhouse. He groaned loudly, almost a sound of pain. Clara offered a sad smile and got up as well to grab some take-out menus from the kitchen for dinner.

"Pizza okay for tonight? We haven't had that in a bit." Clara grabbed the house phone from the kitchen island, knowing already that there would be no objection from her now angry partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Let me know what you think!


	4. Colours

Chapter 4: Colours

The page in front of him blurred as he attempted to concentrate on what was typed on the page. There was silence outside, as it was still early in the morning and most people hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. Just outside his office door, Sam was tapping away on the keyboard at her own desk. Malcolm only heard this sound because he hadn't bothered to close the door to his office for the first time in years. He couldn't even bring himself to get up from his seat now.

"Long night?" Jamie's voice floated through the room.

Under normal circumstances, Malcolm would have been angry that Jamie had interrupted his work, especially so early in the morning. This wasn't a normal weekday morning though. Instead of turning away his fellow soldier in arms, Malcolm huffed a reply and leaned back in his chair. For a moment he pretended that whatever Jamie wanted to talk about would need his full attention, and used that as his excuse for turning away from the document he'd been trying to read for the better part of an hour.

"Close the door behind ya', for fuck-sakes," Malcolm mumbled while struggling to wipe the tiredness from his eyes.

"You look a wreck, mate." Jamie sat in one of the chairs across from his friend, trying not to let the concern he was feeling really show.

"Clara's father had a fucking heart attack last night." He leaned further back, almost lying in the chair at this point. He could feel his body losing the fight with tiredness, and made a mental note to get another coffee as soon as Jamie left. "The call woke us up at fucking three this morning. Of course, she left for Blackpool as soon as her step-monster called. I couldn't sleep afterwards until I knew she got there safely."

This was more than he was planning to admit. Jamie may be Malcolm's oldest friend, but they hardly talked about things like this, and if they did, it was nearly always less than glowing commentary. The lack of sleep was making Malcolm loose lipped, and he thanked whatever being was out there that it was Jamie that was hearing these thoughts.

"Jesus." Jamie seemed to mull over what he'd just heard before he spoke again. "What are you doing here? You should be in Blackpool with your girlfriend; not here fucking around while you wait for her to call."

"You know I hate that word. She isn't just my girlfriend, you know."

"Well I'm fucking calling her that until you make her your wife," Jamie retorted jokingly. He'd been telling Malcolm this since the beginning. He could see the love his best friend held for Clara from the moment he first spoke of her a few months back. "You should be in Blackpool with Clara—being supportive. What if he passes and she's stuck there alone?"

Malcolm mulled over these words for a moment while Jamie stayed silent. When Clara had first received the call from her step-monster early that morning, he was sure she wouldn't want him tagging along. He hadn't even met any of her family yet. The timing was always off, and they'd only been together for a few months. However, just last week they had briefly discussed her going home with him to Scotland for Christmas. She was ecstatic when he'd said that everyone was eager to meet her, and that his mum especially was anxious.

"I'm trying to ensure I have that time off for the holidays," Malcolm argued. "We were going to stop by her father's house before going back home."

"There isn't really going to be a family for you to meet if her father passes, Malc," Jamie attempted to reason in a slightly more than frustrated voice. He pretended to be ignorant of the shit-storm that he'd really stopped by to tell Malcolm about in the first place. "When Vivian's brother passed, we'd only been dating for a few weeks. I went home with her and met him only a few hours before he died. She still says—"

"That' when she knew she was completely in love with your pompous ass, and you both lived fucking happily ever after." He'd heard the story countless times. Somehow Jamie always found a way to use his perfect relationship with his wife as an example in most cases. Even after being married for over twenty years, the man acted like a horny teenage boy with a crush.

"We will hold down the fort here while you go to Blackpool. You've got a phone." Jamie motioned towards the offending device flashing with missed calls and awaiting messages. "If the bloody world ends, I'll be sure to call you first."

There was silence for almost two full minutes while Malcolm thought over what Jamie said, and what his options really were in this case. There was nothing pressing (that he knew about) going on at Number 10 today. No meetings needed attending to that he couldn't possibly have pushed back…

Without another word, he stood, grabbed his coat and phone, and headed towards the office door. Sam was waiting on the other side with a post-it stuck to her finger, ready to give Malcolm the message she's just taken over the phone. Malcolm ignored her in favour of brushing past her in his rush towards the stairs.

"What that all about, now?" Sam questioned once her boss was out of earshot. Jamie was still sitting in the abandoned office with a satisfied smirk. "Is he coming back? He hasn't even heard about how Nicola's impromptu interview went this morning."

"He doesn't need to hear about that right now." Jamie stood to leave while Sam retreated back towards her desk, looking a bit lost as she thumbed the note onto her computer screen. "Clara's father had a heart attack last night and the dolt wasn't sure if he should be there."

"They'll be married by New Years," Sam stated as though it was a fact rather than her pet theory. "Mark my words, Jamie."

As he meandered back towards his own office, and his more than useless assistant, Jamie couldn't help but thinking the same thing.

He also couldn't help but think that he needed a better assistant.

*****

The dull waiting room and watery coffee did nothing to brighten Clara's grim mood while she waited for any sort of news on her father's well-being. Across the room, Linda continued to argue with the nurse at the desk about the lack of information she was receiving. This had been happening since before Clara had even arrived just after six. As soon as she answered the call about her father's heart attack, she was in the car and rushing towards her home town, and the hospital where he'd been admitted. Now she was wishing that there was another waiting room, or that she'd waited back in London or the house for information before entering the gloomy building. All this waiting with Linda was not doing her nerves any good, and was just stressing her out more than she'd ever thought possible.

"Isn't it your job to know what is happening with your patients? Do you not know how to do your job?" Linda shouted at another unsuspecting nurse doing his rounds. The poor man held griped the side of the supplies cart he'd been pushing while being verbally berated about something he had no idea about, by the woman half his size.

"I'm sorry, mam'," the nurse spoke in a kind, gentle voice as he replied to Linda's harassment. "There is no information regarding your husband's state as of right now. The moment there is however, I'll be sure to come tell you myself. Until then, why don't you grab a cuppa and take some deep breaths to calm yourself."

This seemed to appease Linda for the moment, even though she didn't get what she wanted in the first place. The only bad thing (in Clara's opinion) about Linda finally calming down enough to stop yelling at the staff, was that her attention was now free to berate her step-daughter instead.

"You really shouldn't be drinking that, Clara," Linda said in a sickeningly sweet voice; the one she always used when she was feeling especially superior. "That cream will go straight to your hips."

"I don't take cream," Clara stated plainly, and pointedly took a sip of the lukewarm beverage clutched between her chilly fingers. The less she had to talk to Linda, the better for her sanity.

After a few moments of blissful silence, a Doctor came down the hall with a bright smile on his face. Clara felt relief as soon as she saw the man, and was happy that the Doctor didn't feel the need to disguise his feelings on the matter.

"How is my husband?"

"Mr. Oswald is doing just fine. The surgery went fantastically, and he is just in recovery now. There is no telling when he will wake up exactly, that's up to him and his body," the Doctor continued speaking even though Linda had already tried to interrupt him twice. "But there is no reason why you shouldn't be able to see him in a few hours. I'll have someone let you know once he has left the recovery ward and is placed in a room."

Finally, after hours of waiting, the air rushed back into the room. Clara's deprived lungs were filled once again as she was finally able to breathe deeply in relief. The calm that washed over her was quickly broken by Linda making demands once again—demands no one could fill.

"I just don't understand why I am unable to see him now!" Linda's shrill voice echoed down the hallway, causing the other people waiting for their loved ones, to look in their direction. "He's myhusband! I have a right to—"

Instead of someone interrupting her with a reply, it was the sound of rushing footsteps that stopped Linda from verbally abusing the poor woman at the desk. As soon as the source came through the doors to the waiting room, Clara was once again on her feet.

"Malcolm!" the surprise in her voice was genuine, and she imagined the look on her face matched. "What are you doing here? I thought you had work! I was going to call you soon."

He took a moment to catch his breath in the doorway before approaching her and attempting to speak.

"This morning, I knew that you needed me here, and that I couldn't come," he spoke quickly. A rehearsed speech that he'd planned out in the car, but to Clara, it was exactly what she needed. "But to hell with all that fuckery. You need me here with you—so I'm here."

"Excuse me, who exactly—"

"Shut up, Linda!" a glare in her direction. "Malc, you are needed at work. You're always saying that the place would fall apart if you took a day off. That's far more important than—"

"I don't care if England is falling apart. I'm more concerned about keeping the woman I love together."

"Malcolm…" she trailed off, unable to finish her thought with the avalanche of information falling through her mind all at once.

"I know… I know we've never said that to each other before." He ran his long fingers through the wild mop on his head. "And I know that now is a crappy fucking time to tell you, but you need to know. You need to know that I'm going to be here. You're first, Clara. Before London, before England, before everything. You're first."

Without a single word, Clara pushed herself onto her toes and into his arms. He seemed surprised by the movement, but caught her nonetheless. Lips pressed against lips as strangers looked on from their places scattered around the room. Clara smiled against Malcolm's lips, and was hesitant to reply; she didn't want to break up this moment. The perfect moment that came out of the almost tragedy of early morning.

Despite the risk, Clara knew she needed to speak. She needed him to know that there was nothing she wanted more than to put him first. To make him the first on her list as well. No work, no… whatever else there was, just Malcolm.

"I love you too."

*****

Please take moment to let me know what you think. :)


	5. Furious

The low hum of the television in the corner was the only source of familiar comfort Clara found while waiting by her father’s bedside. The beeping of the heart monitors and general noises that came with being in a hospital, echoed off the starkly decorated pink walls. The news channel flashed with summaries of the events from the night before. The volume wasn’t loud enough to make out any words clearly, but Clara knew she wouldn’t be seeing Malcolm today as soon as Nicola’s face flashed across the screen.

“What’s the roach done now?” Dave asked sleepily from his bed. The beeping of his heart monitor sped up for only a moment before going back to normal.

 “Shush,” Clara replied out of habit. It was only when she realised that it was her father speaking that she jumped in surprise. “Dad! You’re awake! Wait here, I’ll go grab the nurse.”

After signaling one of the nurses in the hallway into her father’s room, Clara took a moment to breathe in private. The shock of Dave waking up was not something for which she was prepared. There was always a dull feeling of dread surrounding the past few days. After almost a week of sitting vigil in the hospital, she was almost more prepared mentally for his death than for him living.

The hospital room door was still left open, so Clara could see the nurse and her father speaking as she checked his vitals. Linda had barely moved from the sleeping state she’d been in all night on the small cot in the corner. Her heart swelled at the sound of her father chuckling as the nurse joked with him and offered a wink.

“What’s so funny?” Clara asked as she walked back into the room. She stood by the chair she’d previously been occupying while the nurse finished up.

Dave shook his head in reply and continued answering all the questions lobbed his way. The nurse left just a few minutes later with the promise that he should be able to go home the next day. They just wanted to be sure he wouldn’t fall back into a coma again before sending him on his way.

“Good.” Dave nodded and grabbed the remote from the night stand as soon as the door was closed again. Clara sat in her chair and watched him turn the volume up on the news.

_“—Nicola Murray. And just where is Mr. Tucker? Our sources at Number 10 say he hasn’t been seen since yesterday, stating a family emergency would continue to keep him from his office. The spin—”_

The words, ‘ _Where is Malcolm Tucker?’_ were scrolling across the bottom of the screen on the _Breaking News_ banner. There was a short blurb about a scandal involving Nicola’s daughter, but Clara couldn’t bring herself to really care.

“Where _is_ Tucker? Usually he’s right down the media’s throats with stories like this one.” No sooner had Dave spoken, that the man in question appeared in the doorway of his hospital room.

“I have my best team working on clearing all of this up,” Malcolm said from the doorway. “Which of course means that nothing will be cleared up, but maybe this one will be the final nail in the bitch’s coffin.”

“There better be a proper tea in your hand or you can just turn right back around, my love,” Clara called over the chair. She didn’t turn her head, instead she kept a watchful eye on her father’s face. “You know there’s no way to get a proper cuppa in this building.”

A cup appeared in front of her only a moment later, and another for Dave was put on the nightstand. Clara looked up from the chair into Malcolm’s bright blue eyes staring down into her chocolaty brown ones. A moment of absolute peace passed through both of them, just like every time they met after being away from each other for too long a time. Nights spent at his office kept Malcolm away from their bed more often than either of them liked.

“I suppose that answers that question,” Linda cackled, breaking the calm silence that had enveloped the room.

“What _are_ you doing here?” Clara asked him once he sat in the chair next to her own. He grabbed her hand in his chilly one and kissed her knuckles. “Not that I’m not happy you’re here, of course.”

Before Malcolm had the chance to reply, Dave let out a grunt of pain while he readjusted himself to sit up further in the bed. The wires and cords connected to him and the bed rattled until he finally found a position where he was comfortable.

“Clara?” he looked at Malcolm pointedly.

This was the moment that Clara had been worried about when she and Malcolm had begun dating. The moment her father met one of the people in politics he most hated. The person he constantly complained about hiding things from the general public. The person she loved was also the person her father and his friends loved to hate.

“Dad, this is Malcolm Tucker.” She held Malcolm’s hand tightly in her own. “Malcolm, this is my father, Dave.”

“I know who Malcolm Tucker is, Clara.” Dave groaned again as his voice strained. “What I don’t understand is how you forgot to tell me that Malcolm Tucker, and the man you’ve been dating for weeks—”

“Almost a year.”

“ _Almost a year._ You didn’t tell me they were the same person.”

“This is the first time we’ve talked since my graduation. The graduation that Malcolm came to when you decided that you wouldn’t be attending.”

“I think it would be best if the two of you left,” Linda suggested from the cot. She had the tea Malcolm brought her clutched in her hands. “Dave isn’t supposed to be undergoing a lot of stress right now, and I’m afraid this is only going to aggravate—”

“Linda’s right.” Dave agreed with a nod.

“This is the first time I’ve talked to you in months. The first time I’ve seen you since Christmas last year, and you want me to leave. You’re letting _her_ come between us again.”

She couldn’t say anything else. Her throat closed up as dark thoughts flitted through her upset mind. Malcolm squeezed her hand twice, their signal that they should disjoin. In this case, so that Clara could stand, and they could both leave. It took until she was almost out the door for Clara to formulate any other words into a sentence that would make sense.

“No wonder you had a heart attack.”

And then they were out the door.

And then she cried the whole way home.

Thank God, there was Malcolm Tucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. Simplicity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little chapter before New Year's! Next one with be longer, I promise!

Chapter 6: Simplicity

After nearly eight months of living together, Clara and Malcom had gotten used to their little routines. They shopped together for groceries on Saturday evenings when it was quiet at the local market. They had brunch on Sunday mornings at a cute bistro just a bit out of their way. When Malcolm had to leave for work earlier than Clara, he made a pot of coffee and set a cup full in her favourite mug on her nightstand. Clara in turn made sure there was something Malcolm could ear in the fridge if he got home late from the office.

Their routine was easy, constant, a source of comfort that Clara didn’t realise she needed in the weeks following her and Dave’s fallout. Now that it had finally been settled that Clara was indeed staying with Malcolm instead of finding her own place, the two had decided to move in a new place together.

Somewhere that could be theirs.

Each night the two attempted to meet in Malcolm’s office to look at new apartments and condos that would meet their wants and needs. They quickly found themselves having conversations that most couples so early into their relationship as Malcolm and Clara were, wouldn’t be having yet. Talks in his office late at night that they both knew needed to happen, despite them being together for less than a year. Despite them _knowing_ each other for less than a year.

Do they need extra room for children?

Should they plan for extra bedrooms?

How many?

They were all questions that Clara hadn’t even considered in her previous relationships. But both she and Malcolm were getting older. It was a topic that needed bringing up sooner rather than later. She wasn’t quite the young sprite she was when she was in her last serious relationship. Malcolm had brought up children before, but only passively.

“Should we just be looking for a house?” Malcolm asked cautiously as they looked over the various apartment options they had been debating between. “Even if children aren’t something that happens for us in the future, a house really does afford us everything else we have been looking for in a living space.”

“What if I want if I want children to be something that happens for us in the future?” Clara replied without looking up from the computer screen.

“Then I’d say we should get married before we have them.”

“Are you asking me to marry you, Mr. Tucker?”

“When I ask you to marry me, my love, you’ll know it is happening.”

He kissed her head and gathered together all of their papers and plans, tossing them into a nearby bin. They sat together in silence for a few minutes, Clara thinking about that lovely antique ring Malcolm had hiding in the top drawer of his desk, and Malcolm thinking about that trip to Italy he’d been planning.

With a huff, Malcolm started a new search on his internet browser. This time for a house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you have the time! Happy New Years!


End file.
